“I hope,” said Anthony, “I may be entitled to the same privilege.”
“Of course. Pounset, I think, will be your front rank man. He’s quite up to the whole manœuvre, only you must take care of his mare. But here we are at Abbey-hill gate, and just in time.”
I was introduced in due form to the officers of the squadron, with none of whom I was previously acquainted, and was directed to take my place as Randolph’s rear rank man, so that in file we marched together. Before us were two veteran yeomen, and behind were Anthony and Pounset.
Nothing particular occurred during our march to Portobello sands. Masaniello behaved in a manner which did him infinite credit, and contributed not a little to my comfort. He neither reared nor plunged but contented him at times with a resolute shake of the head, as if he disapproved of something, and an occasional sniff at Randolph’s filly, whenever she brought her head too near.
On arriving at the sands we formed into column, so that Anthony and I were once more side by side. The other squadrons of the regiment were already drawn up, and at any other time I should no doubt have considered the scene as sufficiently imposing. I had other things, however, to think of besides military grandeur.
“I say, Anthony,” said I, somewhat nervously, “do you know any thing about these twistified manoeuvres?”
“Indeed I do not!” replied Whaup, “I’ve been puzzling my brains for the last three days over the Yeomanry Regulations, but I can make nothing out of their ‘Reverse flanks’ and ‘Reforming by sections of threes’?”
“And I’m as ignorant as a baby! What on earth are we to do? That big fellow of a sergeant won’t let us stand quietly, I suppose.”
“I stick to Pounset,” said Whaup. “Whatever he does I do, and I advise you to do the same by Randolph.”
“But what if they should ride away? Isn’t there some disgusting nonsense about forming from threes?”